The Maiden Fair
by Kristybelle
Summary: There's a maiden, a Kingslayer, and a wedding.
1. Wedding in Tarth

"Why would we want to go to Tarth?"

Cersei's words split Jaime's ears at the very last word, her condescension evident.

"Tarth?"

She was opening the mail with a gold letter opener. Gold, gold, everything gold with the Lannisters, like this heavy, awkward hand they'd forced onto his stump.

Gold like the hair of their illegitimate children.

"Yes, yes, seems they've finally married off that beast of a maiden of theirs."

Jaime feels his jaw tighten. "Brienne saved my life, if you'll remember, sister."

"Yes, I suppose, though what good it is to me now I can't say, " she says, nonchalantly, and Jaime prepares to be wounded, but he isn't.

He's thinking of Brienne dressed in white, looking out of place, looking unhappy without her armor and sword, married off to some noble who doesn't know an inch of her worth, who can't stand the sight of her.

"I'll go in our stead," he hears himself say, but he hadn't planned to say it. They'd come out of his mouth unbidden, not from his head at all.

Cersei raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Do you have a crush on that beast, Jaime? Going to save her from a loveless marriage?"

Jaime scoffs. "Brienne saved my life. The least I can do is attend her wedding. Besides, Tarth is a good ally."

Cersei is silent for a moment, watching him. Jaime makes no expression, sitting slouched in his chair next to her.

"Very well. Do as you wish. Take a few men with you. You're no good with your left hand."

Jaime scowls at her. He's been growing quite adept with the sword, during his practice with Bronn, but of course Cersei didn't know that, not that she'd care.

She looks back to the letter opener. "Go on. Off to Tarth with you!"

She waves her hand at him, and with that, Jaime leaves to prepare for his journey.


	2. Journey to War

Jaime was prepared for war, if necessary.

The war for Brienne of Tarth, a war fought from the time he jumped into a bear pit, dirty, exhausted and one handed. The war for her life, and now, a war for her maidenhood.

A war he would win, or die trying.

He imagined her trembling as they fit her for her wedding dress. He scoffed to imagine them plaiting her short, simple haircut, painting her face. Brienne of Tarth, the bride.

Brienne was no bride. Brienne was a warrior. Better with blood and sweat than painted lips and dresses. Her golden hair more beautiful tousled from fighting, her blue eyes bright with rage.

He imagined them bright with fear, and rage burned in his gut, causing him to grasp the ship's edge with his good hand, so hard his knuckles turned white. The ship surged against a wave, and he almost surged with it, stumbling towards the helm.

Brienne of Tarth, married off for money, or lands, or for her father to be rid of her.

Jaime would kill the man who tried to take her from her land, who tried to take her maidenhood, her honor, to take the warrior out of her.

To take his warrior, he thought, and the thought was unbidden, like so many others he'd had on this journey.


	3. Sapphires of Tarth

Jaime Lannister arrived at Tarth just hours before the ceremony was to begin.

He had limited time to find her.

He wished he could dispense with the niceties of being met with horses and fanfare, but of course, he was there under false pretenses.

He planned to kidnap the princess of Tarth.

Princess of Tarth, he laughed at that title. Brienne would laugh, too, as he told her about it while they were spiriting away, back to Kingslanding.

The courtesies of the Tarthians was a blur. He was atop a horse when he saw her.

Dressed in white as he'd expected but the sapphires - sapphires around her throat, embedded in her gown, at her ears. At first she was just glinting blue in the sun, and then he saw she wore OathKeeper slung low across her hips. She was standing with her back to him, talking to a very large gentleman.

As he approached her, he grew more and more uneasy, uncertain about what his role here should be.

He knew he had to help her, but Brienne wasn't much for kidnapping. She would want to help him fight, of course, and know that he knew she was armored, he felt a bit better about it.

He scanned the countryside. Guards at the gates. Standing among the wedding goers.

He slid down off his horse, and felt a tap on his shoulder.

Before he could turn, a huge hand fell on his shoulder and he was jerked around, swinging about like a ragdoll.

The man stood at least a foot taller than Jaime, and had a wide, open, handsome face. He was running to fat, but just barely, and had wide, blue eyes. Being accosted so by such a large man would usually make Jaime reach for his sword, but this man had a kindly, honest nature, and you could tell so in his round face, his earnest gaze.

"Ser Jaime Lannister!" The man boomed, in a low, surpisingly rich baritone. "You've come for the wedding! Brienne will be so pleased!"

"Yes," Jaime said, haltingly. "And you are?"

"Gerald Pedalth, the sixth," Gerald said proudly, "Master of the Tiering Isles."

Jaime had never heard of him, but that wasn't rare. He looked around for Brienne, but only found simpering girls, gathered around to the the lion flags of the Lannisters.

"And proud groom to the lovely Brienne," Gerald continued, and Jaime took a sharp look back at him.

This man? This lumbering giant, was Brienne's intended? He didn't seem cruel at all, or have ulterior motives? Jaime hoped not to have to kill him.

"Congratulations," Jaime muttered, and then cleared his throat. He smiled at the giant of a man, and asked, "Where is Brienne?" with all the courtesies his father had ever forced him to learn.

Gerald clapped a hand on his back and pushed him toward a tent, decorated in white and blue, where several women were gathered around a large, ornate white chair.

Jaime stepped away from Gerald, waved a hand and a smile at him, and started toward the tent. He raised a hand to stop his men from coming with them. He would need time to form a plan with Brienne.

As he approached the tent, he saw that the girls were braiding blue flowers into a maiden's gold hair, hair that was a little past the shoulders and curled up towards the ends. Beautiful hair, like spun silk through the girls' fingers, Jaime thought.

"I'm looking for," he started as he stepped under the blue rafters to get into the tent," and then the girls parted as the maiden in the chair turned round.

"Jaime?"

Jaime found himself looking into the face of Brienne of Tarth, but a softened face, somehow, rid of her warrior's beauty. She was wearing a bit of rouge, her lips painted with gloss, and her blue eyes looked like glints of ice in the sunlight. She looked like a maiden, this Brienne, like an innocent maiden playing dress up, and Jaime's words caught in his throat.

Brienne stood up, brushing the girls away like flies, and lifted her dress somewhat unceremoniously, almost to her knees, and it was at the sight of those scarred, bruised knees that Jaime came back to reality, just as Brienne's soft, lightly scented arms were around his neck.

He allowed himself a small second to marvel at how they'd washed the adrenaline from her body, had made her smell of petals and water, and then he pushed her away, looking into her eyes for fear, or nerves, or that warrior rage that was so familiar.

He found none of these things.

"It's so good to see you again," she said, earnestly, and kept one hand on his shoulder, as if to remind herself he was really there.

"Brienne," he said, and her name broke in his throat. "What's happening, here? What should-" he doesn't like the uncertainty in his voice. He likes even less what he thinks that might mean.

"I'm getting married, of course," she said, smiling at him.

Jaime's heart, strange thing that it was, seemed to be making a downward drop into his stomach, a feeling which made him feel as if he were being catapaulted down a steep hill.

"I'm happy, Jaimie," Brienne said.


	4. Hive of Bees

"There's something wrong with this wine," Jaime muttered to one of his men.

"My lord? Has it gone off?"

"I don't know, but it's bloody not working."

Jaime had no words for the buzzing in his head. It was like carrying around a nest of bees. He was seated at Brienne's table, her insistence, of course, and she was smiling and eating cake and sipping wine and he'd be goddamned if she didn't look like the Princess of Tarth, after all. Gone was Oathkeeper, only worn for the ceremony and now locked away as some keepsake.

He'd stood at the wedding, with a small, persistent ringing in his ears, watching this warrior princess say her vows, and the buzzing grew and grew until Gerald kissed his bride, and Jaime turned his eyes away and threw down his first cup of wine. The first of many, this night.

She'd grown out her hair in the year since he'd seen her, and she looked more like a woman, more like a woman indeed with her generous curves under that tight white bodice, even coming up in a neckline to show cleavage, for the gods sake.

And then there was Gerald. Gerald, who Jaime had written off as a sweet, useless thing, now had his huge arm draped around Brienne's shoulders, and she looked so small. Small and womanly, nothing like his warrior, anymore.

Jaime drank his wine and barked for more. He couldn't remember the last time he'd drank so much. He liked to keep his wits about him, prepared always for his sister's outburts or his father's rage, but tonight he could see no reason to have any wits. He didn't want to have any. Brienne did not wish to be rescued. She wasn't a maiden in distress, and in fact wouldn't be a maiden much longer at all -

Brienne's father at that moment stood, with difficulty from all the wine he'd been drinking, and shouted, "It's time for the Bedding Ceremony!"

Jaime, without a thought, lurched up from his seat. He nearly fell over. The wine had indeed been doing it's job, at least on his body if not his mind, if not on his stupid, flighty heart, which like a bird with a wounded wing was flapping all around.

Brienne gave him a puzzled look, but then as everyone stood, dismissed it as some kind of - exuberance for the bedding ceremony, he supposed.

What could she be thinking? This wasn't the Brienne he knew. This wasn't his warrior. This was some...some...woman.

Brienne was blushing redder than you would imagine, almost tomato red, as the bed was trotted out.

Jaime felt his stomach churning from the wine or the buzzing in his head, or both, and part of him wanted to cry out for them to stop, that the room was spinning, that something wasn't right.

Gerald placed her on the bed, easily as a child picking up a doll, and as he climbed up on top of her Jaime knew the buzzing in his head was too loud, the room spinning too violenty, and he was going to be sick.

He lurched out of the room.


	5. Princess of Tarth

Jaime, throwing up wine and black bile and possibly all those bees that have been buzzing in his head since he'd first heard Brienne say in her new princess voice without the warrior rage, "I'm happy, Jaime," felt a soft, cool hand on the back of his neck.

"Jaime?" There was that princess voice again, and Jaime fought back hot, scalding tears, and he didn't know why, and that made him angry enough to shake off her hand.

"Are you all right?" She asked, her princess voice lower, more tenous.

"No, I'm bloody not all right," he said, spitting, and raised his head. As he did, the spinning world came into focus, and he leaned his good hand against the building to steady himself. Her stupid, princess face, rouged and soft, warrior sweat washed away.

"Too much wine?" she asked, a hint of smile at her lips.

"Not enough," he said, and tried to move his legs to go back inside. They failed him, of course, and he did nothing but slide down the building to crouch.

Brienne crouched beside him, smelling of petals and soapstone.

"Why aren't you losing your maidenhood to Gerald," he asked, and the words came out vulgar, with a sneer, but he was too drunk and the bees were still buzzing and he didn't care.

Brienne scoffed. "I never cared for that ceremony. It was just a show. For Father."

Jaime looked at her, and while the world was still spinning, her eyes were on his, and he could focus on them, for a moment, and for just a moment, the bees were quiet.

"Still a maiden, then," he said, grinning.

Brienne punched his shoulder, and he almost fell over.

She laughed, but her words were serious, somber. "Is that what you'd have me be, Jaime? A maiden forever?"

"No," he said, proudly. "A warrior."

She smiled at him. He was looking into her eyes, still, the only thing he could focus on, and suddenly, he looked down at her mouth, soft and pink and with the gloss smudged from eating and drinking.

He looked at her mouth and he couldn't look away. He leaned down to kiss her and she turned her head.

"Ser Jaime, I think you've partaken of our wine too much this evening!" She said with a bluster, and stood up, brushing dust from her white dress.

Jaime felt helpless, just as helpless as when he was fevered and one handed in the bath, her standing over him naked, all sweat and curves like a warrior goddess, and he remembered how the water beaded over her breasts and how it had made his cock rise up under the water, how in his dreams he woke hard for her, thinking of those breasts.

He didn't understand why. He didn't understand why her mouth had looked so appealing just now or why he hurt so much thinking of her being bedded by Gerald, running to fat round faced Gerald, why the buzzing in his head wouldn't let him alone for five minutes so that he could explain all this to her, to his warrior, his maiden. Surely, she would help him make sense of it. Surely, she would save him from this madness that had woken within him when his sister had spoken of Tarth.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jaime," Brienne said, quietly, and her soft hand on his neck slipped off, leaving behind a trail of gooseflesh. She disappeared inside.


	6. Leaving on the Morrow

The next morning, at the breakfast table, Brienne was flushed and lovely, but with no princess makeup this time, just wearing a simple, blue dress, sitting next to Gerald, under his arm like some kind of awkward bird.

Jaime couldn't tear his eyes away. He was drinking ale as if it were water and he were dying of thirst, and when one of his men mentioned that they might be leaving upon the morrow, he snapped at him that they'd stay as long as he'd like, his sister be damned.

Had they? Had they...bedded? Had she stolen back to her marital bed after she'd denied Jaime that kiss, left him drunk and sitting with that hive of bees in his head, slumped against the building?

The thought tore at him, ripped tiny pieces of his sanity away. He didn't know why it mattered. He didn't know why he cared. He didn't know why it hurt him so much, and it made him angry. It made him want to drink ale until the question went away, but it didn't seem to be working.

She was flushed enough, all right. She looked as if maybe she'd been making love all night, well into the morning, round faced, running to fat Gerald pumping away at that warrior's body they'd washed all the scent from, that warrior's body that Jaime had seen standing naked and unafraid, standing in the bath, standing and facing him. The very thought of it had him gritting his teeth so hard his jaw began to ache. He couldn't think of it. It couldn't be. Not Brienne. Not the maiden. Not his warrior.

Jaime wondered at what moment he'd begun to think of her as his.

Had it been when he'd rescued her from the bear? When he'd given her armor and Oathkeeper, wishing with all his might that she'd turn around, ask for him to come with her?

It was madness, all of it, the whole crazy tumble of thoughts in his head, of feeling in his guts, and he couldn't stand it. He had to know. He had to ask her. He had to speak to her, to somehow voice this buzzing in his head, this trembling just under his skin, as if he were about to explode from the inside out.

He made his way, albeit unsteadily, to her table.

As politely as his gritted teeth would allow him, he asked Gerald if he could borrow his bride for a moment. Gerald gave him a big, open smile and removed his arm from Brienne, allowing her to stand and move outside with him, toward the sea.

They walked silently, close enough to touch hands but not quite touching, and Jaime felt close to bursting with words, words he didn't know how to speak. They reached a balcony over the sapphire isles, and the words that came blurting out he had no idea were coming.

"Did you return to your marital bed, Princess Brienne?" The words were harsh, cold, almost vulgar.

"Ser Jaime!" She said, and her own words were harsh, scolding. "That's rather none of your business, is it?"

The flush of her cheeks was deepening, spreading down to her throat, the tops of her breasts, and Jaime's breath caught in his throat. All at once he was angry, angrier than he had been in his whole life, and he wanted to scream at her.

He didn't, though, his words still harsh, the tone almost condescending. "Lost your maidenhood at last, wench," he said, "how was it?"

"You're being vulgar, Jaime. It doesn't suit you." She crossed her arms over her chest and turned from him, refusing to look at him, to give his words meaning.

She still hadn't answered him. He felt snared, caught wriggling on a hook, and he had to know, had to know, had to know. He'd go mad if she didn't tell him, raving mad.

"Did you go back to him last night, Brienne? Did you go back to your husband and finish the bedding ceremony? Did you let him inside you?" He couldn't keep the anger out of his tone, the coldness. Something was springing to life inside him, and like things that had been long dead, it hurt.

"Stop it, Jaime." Her words were quiet, but full of steel.

"Did you let him fuck you, Princess of Tarth?"

She swung around and put her blue eyes on his, full of rage, warrior rage, and Jaime's heart seized up and stopped beating. There she was. His warrior at last.

"He's my husband!" She all but yelled at him. "He didn't fuck me! We made love and it was wonderful, and it's still none of your damned business, Kingslayer."

Jaime wondered if it were audible, the break in his mind. He felt a dozen emotions boiling inside him, but the hottest one was rage. A desperate sort of rage.

"I'll kill him," He said, "I'll kill him and take you back to Kingslanding, and we'll-"

"We'll what, Jaime? What would you have me do? Abandon my husband?"

He felt like she'd socked him in the gut. She'd taken the breath out of him, taken the life out of him, this wench, this woman he'd once thought ugly,once thought masculine. This woman standing proud and beautiful and angry before him, maiden no more.

That last thought broke through, and he let go the breath he'd been holding and found he could barely stand on his own without the anger. He steadied himself against the railing of the balcony and felt hot tears spring behind his eyes. He hadn't shed a tear since he had been eight years old. Eight years old, and Cersei had sprained her ankle, badly, in a hole while they were out playing. It had swollen so badly and he'd carried her to the maester but she hadn't cried. He'd cried for her as they splinted it, because he felt her pain for her.

This pain was different. It wasn't for Cersei. It wasn't even for him, but for something lost, something that he'd almost had hold of, and not known it. Something he was missing that he'd never even known he'd wanted.

"Brienne," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

"Who better, then, Jaime? Who would you have take my maidenhood?" She was still angry, still up in arms, still his warrior.

Me, he thought. It should have been me. But it were words he left unsaid, like all the words left unsaid between them, and all the space and time he hadn't known he should have been spending with her, spending telling her what she meant to him, what she could've been for him, how they could have been together.

They stood there, together, and apart, and after a time, Brienne put her soft hand over his.

"Jaime...are you all right?"

He lifted his head and smiled at her. "Of course I am. The Princess of Tarth has been married. I just wanted to congratulate you. Let's go back to the feast."

She went inside, first, and Jaime took a few gulps of air from the sapphire isles, knowing that when he left on the morrow, he left so much more behind than the Princess of Tarth.


	7. The Letter

Two years had gone by since Jaime had left the Princess of Tarth, previously the maiden of Tarth, Brienne his warrior, behind to her running to fat but sweet husband Gerald.

He hadn't said goodbye, but left the following day at sunrise, before she'd risen from her honeymoon bed, likely shared with a grateful Gerald, Gerald who got to hold her through the night, a fact that Jaime didn't like to think about, but somehow was forced to the long trip home to Kingslanding.

He thought of little else on the journey back except for Brienne, of her warrior blue eyes and her curves in that white bodice, those warrior eyes and curves that belonged now to another man, the warrior inside her no longer his.

Jaime had lost something on this journey, something he hadn't even known he had - and in the two years that he'd been back, he hadn't so much as touched a hair on Cersei's head. It wouldn't compare to the silken curls, braided with blue flowers, that he'd seen in Tarth.

He wouldn't want to compare. Cersei would come up wanting, and that was a fact that might shake him to his core.

Now, two years past, in his good hand, he held a letter with the seal of Tarth, and he wasn't very surprised to note that his hand was trembling.

Cersei had the good breeding not to open it. He was grateful for that much.

I'm not much for writing letters. I barely learned to read before my parents died. My Brienne has bore me a son, and he's healthy and hearty, but Brienne withers before my eyes. She has a fever borne of the childbed, and she barely speaks. When she does, she speaks your name, Ser Jaime Lannister.

I beg you come to see her. I fear she has little time left.

Gerald Pedalth, of the Tiering Isles

Jaime didn't breath properly until he was board a ship to Tarth.


	8. I Dreamed of You

It seemed like a lifetime before he arrived in Tarth.

Gerald met him at the gates. "Ser Jaime-"

Jaime cut him off. Time was too short to dispense with the courtesies. "How is she?"

"She isn't well, Ser Jaime. She-" Gerald's round face crumbled and he broke into a sob.

Jaime's heart, flighty thing that it was, skipped a beat, and he couldn't imagine not seeing Brienne again, not ever seeing that warrior glint in her eyes as she looked at him. It was a fate he couldn't bear.

Gerald took him to her bedside. "She does nothing but speak your name," he explained. "She won't eat, or drink, or feed the babe, just whispers Jaime."

As Jaime approached the bed, a dread came over him. What if she'd already gone? What if she'd stolen away into the undeworld in the night, gone before he'd had a chance to tell her - to tell her...

"Jaime..." the sound was hoarse and small coming from the canopied bed. No princess voice, but warrior, hoarse but somehow still strong, and Jaime rushed to the beside, crouching down to hear her.

When he saw her, all the color left his face.

Her skin, always ruddy and glowing with sweat before, had become a sickly grey. She had lost a good deal of weight, and her nightdress laid on her like a rag, her hipbones and collarbones protruding. Her eyes were closed, and he could see tiny blue veins running through them like a labrynith.

"Brienne," he said, meaning for it to sound strong, to help her come out of her sickness, but it came out a whisper, a prayer.

He touched her cheek, found it hot and clammy, and his throat felt full of sand.

"Jaime," she murmered again, as if they were lovers, and tears sprang to his eyes and down his cheeks.

She opened her eyes, and looked into his face. She smiled, then, a weak smile just turning up one corner of her mouth. "I dreamed of you," she said.


	9. Monster in Law

"Cuckolded in your own house-" The words came screeching from the hallway, and Jaime was awoken from his slumber in the chair at Brienne's bedside

"Mother, please, Brienne is resting-" Gerald whispered, but he whispered like a man in a steel mill, loud as a normal man's speaking voice, and Brienne turned in the bed. Jaime reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to ease her back into sleep.

"How have you let him stay in your bedchambers with her? What were you thinking you great lumbering -"

"MOTHER!"

A beast of a woman burst into the bedroom door, and Jaime looked up at her with dismay and irritation. He didn't move his hand from Brienne's shoulder.

She was larger than Brienne, and much uglier, with Gerald's round face but without his sweet look or wide blue eyes. Her eyes were beady and judging.

"I'd have you know you're touching the wife of Gerald Pedalth, Ser." She blustered.

"I'm touching Brienne of Tarth, a woman I've known for many years, and she's very ill, so I'll have you get the hell out of here before I throw you out," Jaime said, quietly, focusing on her steely eyed.

"You shouldn't be in her bedchambers," she kept on, coming towards the bed. "It's my job as her mother to be helping her through this sickness..."

"Her mother died many years ago, my lady, and -"

She came to the bed, plumping up the pillows beneath Brienne's head, and finally waking her. Brienne came to suddenly. "Mother Pedalth." She said, in a tone that suggested this caretaking would be less than pleasant. "Hello."

"Hello, darling," Mrs. Pedalth purred. "Gerald's been off his rocker since you've turned ill and has given your caretaking to this...man..."

Brienne looked around, confused, and laid her eyes on Jaime. She smiled. "I thought I might have dreamed you," she said, softly. "How long?"

"A fortnight, now," Jaime said, stiffly, removing his hand at last from Brienne's wasted shoulder.

"Why did you come?" She asked, ignoring Mrs. Pedalth's mumbles and grumbles.

"Gerald sent for me. You were asking for me."

"Was I?" she said, looking away from him, almost blushing. She turned back to her fussy mother in law. "Mother."

"Yes, Brienne?"

"Ser Jaime is a dear friend of mine, and a welcome guest. Would you please make a pot of tea for us?"

"But Brienne, I think-"

"Please, Mother, I'm so thirsty." Brienne used her wide blue eyes, this time, blinking up at her.

Mrs. Pedalth bustled out of the room.

Brienne turned her attention back to Jaime. Jaime noted that her color was back. There was red in her cheeks now, and he wasn't sure it was because she was blushing or just startled from sleep. All the things he had been bursting to tell her seemed to be pushing deep down inside himself, again, things better left unsaid to this married, motherly woman, this woman who he'd rushed to see when she'd been on her deathbed but who now seemed more alive than ever, staring at him with her warrior's eyes.

Jaime thought he might be afraid.

"Why did you come?" She asked, again.

"I told you, Gerald sent for me..."

"Why did you come when Gerald sent for you? I'm just another ally, dying of childbed fever."

Jaime was taken aback. He wasn't sure what to say, so he held his tongue.

"I'm feeling better now. You can head back to Kingslanding."

Jaime stood, awkwardly. "Very well. I'll head back on the morrow."

"Thank you, Jaime. It was good to see you." She smiled, a little. "Would you send Gerald in with the baby? I've missed him so."

Jaime felt a knife in his heart at this, and he didn't want to ask her if she meant she'd missed the baby or Gerald. He exited the room without seeing Gerald, and found his way to the stables. He stood there among the horses for a while, unable to understand the feeling in his chest, how he couldn't breathe properly. His chest was tight. He took off his tunic, stood there shirtless, and that helped a little, but he couldn't seem to get air inside. Brienne as a happily married woman, a babe on her hip, with those still warrior eyes...

Suddenly, Jaime took his golden hand and beat it across his chest. Pain bloomed from the beating, and he did it again, and again. It felt good to feel pain, something exterior, something that wasn't rolling in his guts or buzzing in his head. Something real to hold on to, something that wasn't half remembered or never forgotten or a memory of beaded water on her breasts, the ice blue of her warrior's eyes.

A bruise spread from his ribcage to his throat, and he covered it with his tunic as best he could.


	10. Do You Think We Might Have Been

Chapter Text

Jaime sat again at the breakfast table, but this time, he drank water instead of ale. His chest and ribs ached from where he had beaten them with his golden hand, and it was a welcome ache, a familiar battle ache.

Brienne didn't come to breakfast, still sick abed with her baby boy, but Gerald was there, repeatedly thanking him for coming, for his service in helping him take care of his Brienne.

"My Brienne," Gerald kept saying, and each repeat was like salt in an old wound.

Jaime excused himself to escape to the ship, but Gerald stopped him.

"The lady of the house seeks your company, Ser Jaime," he said.

Jaime was powerless to resist. Brienne, for all her coldness the day before, had been on her deathbed mere days before.

When he reached the bed, Brienne was singing, low and lilting. He approached and was a little startled to see her breasts bare, the babe just finished suckling and napping atop her chest.

She didn't make a move to cover herself, and Jaime wanted to press a finger to her nipple, to remove the bead of milk there. He didn't, of course, sat in the chair next to her.

"Jaime," she said, warmly, and shifted her arms, and her breasts, so he could see the face of the babe in her arms. It had a round, cherubic face like Gerald, and a mop of gold curls.

"He's beautiful," Jaime said, and although newborns were usually shriveled things, mewling and howling, this one was more baby than newborn, big and bouncing and healthy, and he did think so. He wouldn't lie to her.

"Gerald said all I would speak after he was born was your name," She said. "And so he named him Jaime."

Jaime startled a little in his seat. He didn't speak. Didn't trust himself to speak.

She smiled at him. "It's a good name. A strong name."

Jaime scoffed. "The name of a one handed Kingslayer."

"The name of a true friend," Brienne corrected, her blue eyes flashing their warrior light at him, warning him not to disparage himself in her company. "I'm sorry I was cold to you. I was angry when I awoke. I had fever dreams...fever dreams where you...you left me without saying goodbye."

Jaime winced a little. He had left without goodbyes the last time he'd seen her, been too hurt and confused to stay and see her honeymooning with Gerald. Too confused to understand what he'd been feeling, the buzzing in his head, the jealousy and rage boiling just beneath the surface.

"I-I didn't know what to say," Jaime spoke, truthfully. "I didn't know how to say goodbye."

Brienne nodded, as if those words were good enough. She looked down at the babe and traced her finger down one fat cheek.

"Jaime?"

"Yes?" He waited, his breath bated, for her next words.

"Do you think.." she spoke haltingly. "Do you think, if I had been a prettier maiden...if you hadn't been Kingsguard...if Cersei-"

"Do I think we would've been-"

"Lovers? Do you think we could've been lovers?" Brienne looked up at him, something in her eyes bluer than all the sapphires of Tarth, and Jaime's throat was full of sand again.

"More," Jaime managed, hoarsely. "More than lovers, we."

Brienne blushed a steady crimson, and let out a chuckle. "I'm not a prettier maiden, though, and you are Kingsguard. Look at me, an old married woman blushing in front of Ser Jaime Lannister."

"Motherhood suits you, my lady," he said, and it did. The milk drying on her breasts, which were swollen with milk, her hips wider beneath her night dress, made his cock stir in ways he couldn't begin to explain to her.

"Will you stay with me, Jaime?"

"What?" He words startled Jaime from gazing at her body.

"Until Gerald goes to Pedalth this summer? It's only a week away, and I'm afraid I'll grow ill again. I don't want this to be the last time I see you."

Jaime felt a stab in his gut. This, be the last time he see Brienne, his warrior, with milk drying on her breasts for another man's babe. It couldn't be.

"I'll stay as long as you need," he heard himself saying, although another week of seeing her at the breakfast table, nuzzling her husband and babe seemed like an eternity, seemed like a lifetime of rolling guts and buzzing bees, because a week in her room, with the smell of her mother's milk and the glint of warrior still way back in her eyes, seemed like mere seconds.


	11. Half Naked Kingslayer

Chapter Text

Gerald Pedalth sails for the Tierling Isles on a cloudy day. The weather isn't good, and Brienne is nervous, biting her lips in a way that makes them swell pouty and kissable.

Jaime can't tell her this, of course, has been stuck to the shadows, watching his warrior become a bride and mother, become more beautiful by the day, suckling her babe and sleeping in long days with her husband, and every day of it makes something dark rise in his chest.

The afternoons, however, are his, and he reads to her as she convalesces, reads her poetry and stories of knights and bravery, of all the houses and their triumphs, and sometimes she gets so excited she claps her hands in a childish glee, and it's all he can do not to grasp her hands and kiss her, kiss her until she begs him to stop.

Jaime couldn't tell you the moment that he realized he was in love with her. It hadn't been as early as saving her from the bear pit, or as late as her bedding ceremony, but somewhere in between, somewhere when he'd been having his fever dreams of seeing her in the bath, somewhere when he'd been praying for her safety to gods he'd never believed in. It had been in the small, still moments they'd been apart, that he'd allowed himself to love her.

He'd realized it too late, of course, and now he was doomed to watch her live her life with another, a life he could have given her. A babe that could have been his, for all his golden curls and Brienne's blue eyes. A babe named Jaime.

It was almost more than he could bear, but every time he thought of leaving, he saw Brienne's eyes when she'd asked him to stay.

She's out of the bed, today, standing at the gates in a simple, peach colored dress that brings out the porcelain white of her skin and waving goodbye to her husband, and Jaime stands beside her, a few steps behind, in case she tires.

She stumbles a bit coming back into the gates, and Jaime is at her side in an instant, his arm slipping aroud her waist to steady her.

"Oh, Jaime, don't fuss over me. It's these stupid shoes. Ladies wear the stupidest shoes," she complained, but she did not push him away, but leaned against him, allowing him to guide her inside.

Her skin felt hot under his hand, and Jaime wondered if she was fevered again or if it were his own heat transfering to her, the electricity he felt at the touch of her waist against his arm.

Hours later, a storm is certainly and steadily brewing, the rain beating heavily against the window panes, and the baby is asleep in the nursery, sleeping through it all, agreeable fat little fellow, like his father.

Brienne worries her lip against her teeth, and Jaime has another urge to kiss her. He looks away before he acts, and she motions him toward the bed. "Will you sit with me?" She asks, quietly.

"My lady?"

"Oh, don't my lady me. It's me. Brienne. The ugliest girl in Westeros? Sit on the bed with me, Jaime. I don't like the storm."

"You're hardly the ugliest girl in Westeros, Brienne. Maybe in Tarth-" he grinned at her, and she swatted at him as he sat down a bit awkwardly beside her. His knee touched hers, and her warmth spread through him. He placed his good hand palm down on the bed, and as he did, his tunic slipped down on one shoulder.

Brienne took in a sharp breath. "Jaime! What happened to your -"

In an instant, she's taking of his tunic, pulling it over his head and he has no say in the matter. She has always been stronger than him, after all, and for a moment Jaime has only the simple pleasure of her undressing him. Then, "OUCH!"

She pokes a finger into the huge bruise traveling from the base of his throat to the bottom of his ribcage. "What happened to you? Were you fighting?"

"You could say that," Jaime muttered, and grabbed for his tunic.

She held it above his head, almost playfully, and his face came startlingly close to hers as he reached for it.

"You don't want to play this game with me, Brienne," he said, huskily, and Brienne's blue eyes widened a bit.

"Playing games with a half naked Kingslayer? I think I just might." She smiles and holds the tunic higher, and without a thought, without a word, Jaime leans in and kisses her.

Her mouth is soft, yielding against his. She lets go a held breath, a contented sigh, and melts into him. His arms come around her and he's lying her down on the bed before he comes to his senses.

"I'm sorry," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

"Me too," she says, almost mournfully.

He doesn't know what to make of his words, so he sits there, quietly, watching her.

"What happened to cause your bruise?"

"You did, Princess of Tarth," Jaime said, and grabbed his tunic from her. He threw it over his head and strode out of the room.


	12. A Picnic

Gerald had left on his journey planning to be gone three months, but three months turned into six, and Jaime found himself hoping against his better morals that he'd decide to stay in the Tiering Islands for good, leaving his wife and child in Jaime's care.

The days were long on the Sapphire isles, and the weather mild and sunny.

Three months after Gerald left for the isles, they went riding with little Jaime strapped to Brienne's chest, Brienne wearing breeches that showcased her wide hips and pear shaped ass, and Jaime wondered how he ever thought her masculine, if she had been more so before she'd become a mother or if he'd been blinded by the armor or his feelings for his sister or his own stupidity.

She wore a loose tunic so that she could nurse the babe, and her breasts sat high on her chest. Every so often the wind would blow the tunic up and he could see the soft swell of her belly, just above the navel where she still kept a muscular structure, and in the cool breeze he still felt hot, his cock hard against his saddle. He shifted on the horse, and Brienne looked over at him.

"Forgotten how to ride a horse, Kingslayer?" She teased.

Later, while little Jaime lie dozing on a blanket, they lie in the grass and Brienne let him kiss her for hours, let him explore her mouth with his tongue, her soft lips, let him put his hands on her, skimming over the muscles above her navel, the swell of her stomach below, the dip in at her waist, her hip. He braced his gold hand on the ground, although it spread a hot ache through his stump, so that he could grip her right breast in his good hand, feel it's heavy milk weight, and he leaned his head down to grasp her nipple between his teeth.

When he did, she arched beneath him, and they were almost exactly the same height, so her sex arched into his throbbing cock and he thought he might come in his pants.

"Stop," she said, and he did, always did, although every nerve end in his body was on fire for her, wanting more, wanting inside her, and he realized the babe had begun to fuss in his sleep.

Brienne had flushed red all the way down between her breasts, and he wanted to kiss the trail of embarrassment.

She leaned against a nearby tree and nursed the baby, watching Jaime with her warrior blue eyes.

"What is this?" She asked, her voice low, almost humming.

"This?" Jaime was surprised. She'd let him kiss her once more, a month ago, right after she'd bested him in sparring, and he'd grabbed her as she helped him up and pulled her to him. He liked how she was his height, close enough that he didn't have to lean down to kiss her, that her mouth was right on his.

"A dalliance? A good time before you return home to Kingslanding? To.."

"to Cersei?" He finished for her, and her eyes flashed. She looked away from him, down at her son, who had begun to drowse off again.

He scoffed at the idea. Cersei? Cold blooded Cersei after this? After this flushed red, all curves, her mouth sweet like well water, curves to trace with his hands and his body instead of straight lines, warrior blue eyes instead of ice manipulation...

"Don't you know, Brienne?" He asked, teasing her a little, but his tone serious, low.

She only looked at him for a moment, warrior blue eyes flashing, as if ready to defend herself, as if she were holding Oathkeeper.

"What, you're saying you fancy me or something?" She asked, her tone incredulous, as if this were an idea that she had never even begun to imagine.

"Quite a bit more than that," Jaime responded, his heart beating fast, and he didn't know why he was telling her this, why he couldn't help but tell her, but he thought it might be something to do with the way she seemed to be afraid she might need defense, as if he might tell her it was some big joke.

"Seems I've fallen in love with the Princess of Tarth."


	13. Don't Send Me Away

"Don't tease me, Kingslayer," Brienne had said, and before he could speak, she'd gotten up, strapped the baby onto her chest, and straddled her horse.

It was three months before she'd let him touch her again, and it was nothing, the briefest of moments of his good hand on hers. She'd tucked her hand into his and let him hold it for a moment.

Six months after Gerald had gone away, hours after holding her hand in the meadow, he'd been sitting next to her as they finished dinner.

"I think it's time for you to return to Kingslanding," she said, as nonchalantly as if she'd asked him to take out the rubbage.

Jaime set his jaw in a hard line. "Is that so?"

"Gerald sent word that he'll be returning in a week."

"My services are no longer needed, then?" Jaime's voice was low, but warning. He poured himself a glass of wine. He'd decided he would need it.

"You're a true friend, Ser Jaime. I appreciate all you've done for me and little Jaime in his absence."

Courtesies, Jaime thought bitterly. Nice words she'd learned as a child, calling him Ser as if they barely knew each other, as if he were above her somehow. As if they hadn't been kissing in the grass mere months before with the babe slumbering next to him, his hand on one milk heavy breast.

"As you wish, Princess," Jaime said, his words turning the wine bitter in his mouth, and as Brienne excused herself, he poured himself another glass.

Hours and a flagon of wine later, Jaime found himself standing at her bedchambers, resting his forehead against the door, breathing slowly, in and out, listening for her heavy breathing. Candlelight spilled from beneath the door and he knew she was still awake.

He fumbled for the doorknob and stumbled inside.

She was sitting on the bed and looked around as if she'd been expecting him.

Jaime, prepared to rant and yell at her about what a wench she was being, about how she'd led him on, let him kiss her and touch her and pretend to be father to the babe, saw her face in the candlelight, her warrior blue eyes, and the words that came out of his hoarse throat were not the ones he was expecting.

"Please don't send me away," he said, almost begging, and made his way unsteadily to her bedside.

"Jaime-"

He made it to her bed and placed his head in her lap. She stiffened for moment.

"I hate it when you send me away," he muttered, and then he felt her soft hand in his hair, brushing it back from his face.

"You're drunk," she said, softly. "That's all."

"No," he said, stubbornly. He tilted his head to look up at her. "I love you, and you tried to send me away."

He heard Brienne's voice catch in her throat. "Do you really mean that, Kingslayer?"

He opened his mouth to tell her, but the room was spinning, and he decided to close his eyes instead.


	14. Honorable Woman

Jaime dreamed that he was in the bath again. It was a familiar dream, and he could smell the hot well water, feel the steam rising up against his skin, but this time he wasn't fevered and one handed. He was whole again, could see both hands under the water, and instead of crouched defensively in the corner of the bath, Brienne was all naked curves beside him, holding baby Jaime, and smiling.

"Jaime?" He awoke to the sound of her voice, and when he opened his eyes, she was sitting on her knees beside him, naked, and he thought he must still be dreaming.

She wasn't smiling anymore though, and she had that defensive, warrior glint in her blue eyes.

He wanted to take her in, laid bare for him like this, but those warrior blue eyes held him rapt.

"I like to think of myself as an honorable woman," she said, haltingly, and he realized she was nervous. She didn't make a move to cover herself, but she was sitting stiffly, her hands resting on her upper thighs. "I married Gerald because my father wanted me to, but more importantly, because he loved me, and because..." she stopped, and looked away briefly before locking her eyes back on his. "Because I never thought Jaime Lannister would ever look at me twice," she finished.

He opened his mouth, but she placed a soft hand over it to stop him, and shook her head, her blond curls bouncing a bit as she did.

"My whole life, I've been called a boy, a beast, or worse. You were the first man to see me as I wanted to be seen. As a knight. A warrior, you called me. I wanted to hate you for your name, for what I thought you'd done, but I couldn't help but love you for who you are, for how you saw me. So if you're serious about fancying me-"

"I don't fancy you, Brienne. I love you," He said, emphatically, sitting up in the bed.

She continued as if she didn't hear him. "If you're not having a laugh at me, then I can't be honorable anymore. I have to see what it's like to love a man like you, even if only for another week."

She finished, blushing, and looked away. Jaime took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him.

"You're perfect, Brienne of Tarth, just the way you are," he said, and a tear ran down her cheek. He kissed it, and it tasted of salt and earth and everything she was, and he thought his heart might burst.

Jaime Lannister had lived his whole life for those he loved. For his father, for Tyrion, for Cersei. And now, he was loved back, in the same way, in the same kind, and he'd found a kindred soul, who loved the same things and didn't think Kingslayer every time she looked at him. Didn't think dishonor and mistrust and Lannister. She thought of him as just Jaime. As just hers.

He didn't want to think about what might happen when Gerald came back. For now, Brienne was naked and he was in her bed, and that was all the thinking he wanted to do. He touched her hip with his good hand and traced up her waistline to her breast, twisting her nipple gently between his fingertips. She moaned and arched her mouth toward his, and he kissed her.

When she was lying beneath him, again he was grateful for the nearness in their heights, because it gave him just the right angle to slip his fingers into the blonde curls at the apex of her thighs, to slip two fingers inside her and feel her arch beneath him again. He freed himeslf from his breeches, thinking that although he'd love this to last all morning there was no way he'd make it that far, after six months of wanting her from afar, and when he slid up inside of her all he could think was Brienne, Brienne, Brienne, Princess of Tarth, my maiden, my warrior, and they came together and apart, together and apart and she cried out his name when she came, not Kingslayer but Jaime, and it brought him over too, and when he was done he kissed her shoulder and whispered that he loved her, his warrior, and prayed she'd always be his.


	15. Time and Time Again

Jaime spent five nights in Brienne's bed, with the babe sleeping in the nursery next to them. He sent the nanny away, woke up in the night to bring her little Jaime to nurse, watching her and stroking the babe's head as he nursed himself back to sleep. He was nearly eight months old, and liked to grasp hold of Jaime's gold hand and pull, attracted to the way it glinted in the light, and it made Jaime laugh and laugh.

Jaime knew he was only playing and husband and father,only pretending, but he thought these months of pretending might last him the rest of his life. The sight of Brienne riding the horse with little Jaime in front of her, jostling around as the horse trotted, Brienne riding one handed, her other arm wrapped around the babe's belly.

The nights were long, slow love making, Jaime exploring every inch of her body, her hips wider after pregnancy, kissing his way up her long legs to her inner thighs, to the apex of those blonde curls, lapping at her until she was grasping the bed sheets in her hands, moaning his name, moaning "Jaime, Jaime," never "Kingslayer" unless she was teasing him, beneath him, whispering, "you can do better than that, Kingslayer," until he pounded into her faster and faster until their orgasms took both their breaths and he lie on her, both of them panting, Brienne giggling and finally pushing him off of her and straddling him, always ready for more, eager for it.

You'd have never guessed she'd been a maiden for so long. They fit together just perfectly, their similar heights making every position easy to maintain and hold, and Jaime's favorite was fucking her from behind, her plump ass bouncing against him, wide hips in his hands, with her head tossed back, her blond curls grown long and wild down her back, and sometimes he'd grab a fistful of it and pull her head back to look at him, and she would always smile, and every time she smiled it made him come.

"I love you," he said, always, after, and she'd smile and kiss him, but she never said it back, not once, and though it was a stab in his heart, he told her time and time again, because it was true, and he wanted her to always remember when she finally sent him away.

Brienne was sleeping naked in her bedchambers, early morning, when the babe woke. Jaime fed him some applesauce so as not to wake her, and took him outside to catch the morning breeze from the sea. He laid out a blanket for him, and the babe began to crawl around. Jaime was watching him, smiling, when he heard a trumpet blare.

He looked up, surprised, and saw a ship with the Pedalth flag of the badger sailing toward the port of Tarth.


	16. Rosebud of Tarth

Jaime thought of Brienne lying naked and spent in her marital bed, and then of Gerald greeting hm and then leaving him there with little Jaime, going to his wife, and fucking her while she still lie asleep, unknowingly mixing his seed with Jaime's, and he felt dizzy and sick at once.d

The first time Jaime had taken her from behind, innocent Brienne had been nervous. She said, softly, that sometimes it didn't fit, that way, with Gerald.

Although she hadn't meant to hurt him, Jaime felt a stab in his gut and suddenly felt hot all over. He thrust into her, hard, until she cried out, and then he kissed her shoulder, moved more slowly, told her sweet whispers about how it wasn't her fault she had the tightest, most wonderful cunt in all of Westeros.

After they were done and she was lying in his arms, cheek to cheek, she said solemnly, "No wars will ever be fought over my beauty."

"I'd fight a thousand wars over your beauty," Jaime said, honestly, and he stroked her cheek. "But I think you'd prefer to fight your own wars, Brienne of Tarth."

She smiled then, and kissed him. "Brienne the Beast, fighting her own wars," she said, jokingly.

"If those boys who called you Brienne the Beast could see what you were hiding underneath this armour..."

He slid down her and put his mouth on her, and after she had shuddered beneath him and moaned his name three, four times, she'd confessed that Gerald had never done that.

Jaime found himself so proud he said, "Lucky me, to be the first to taste the hidden rosebud of Tarth," and Brienne had laughed like a teenager, and he'd kissed her and kissed her with the taste of her still on his mouth until her lips were swollen and bruised.

He thought of those moments and he wanted to slip under the earth of Tarth and die there as he stood up with the babe and met Gerald.

Gerald clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him down, and took the babe from him.

"You've been taking care of my family, Ser Jaime. You will be rewarded. Where's my Brienne?"

Before Jaime could open his mouth, Brienne came out in a robin's egg blue dress, looking freshly washed and rouged. Jaime felt bile rise in his mouth as she smiled at Gerald, her eyes wide and blue and honest.

"I'll let you get to your family," he said, roughly, and headed to the alehouse, where he planned to drink all the ale of Tarth.


	17. The Kingslayer and the Warrior

"Ser Jaime!"

Jaime heard Brienne speaking in that Princess of Tarth voice he hated so, the voice she never used in the moments he was between her thighs, then she used her warrior voice, deeper, huskier, and never calling him "Ser."

He hates it so that he considers not turning around. Of course, he does, because somehow among a lopped off hand, a journey, and a bear pit, a maiden knight has stolen his heart and become his compass. Morals were something that had never occupied Jaime Lannister's mind. He was no Eddard Stark. Kingslayer, they called him, and he'd told Brienne that he'd done it because it was just, because the King was mad, but really he'd done it for the love of his father, just as he'd pushed Brandon Stark out a window for the love of his sister.

He'd abandoned Cersei and the Kingsguard, ignored her letters, desperate as they'd become as Daenerys Targaryen approached, and the North Star he followed was in Brienne's sapphire eyes. He was hers, crippled, aging Kingslayer though he was, underserving of her light, and so he followed the sound of that hated princess voice, and started back toward sweet, running to fat Gerald Pedalth, husband of his love and father to the child he'd rocked to sleep, not waking Brienne when he cried late in the night.

Jaime was no stranger to pretending. After all, he'd stood next to Robert Baratheon hundreds of times, all the while listening to them rutting once a month while he seethed outside the door, providing guard so the servants wouldn't interrupt.

"Yes, Princess Brienne," he said, smiling widely, as if his teeth weren't gritted so hard his jaw ached.

She looked at him, her sapphire eyes shining, and as Gerald walked up, the wet nurse hurried out to take the baby.

Jaime watched the baby go inside, borne of his love and the only child to bear any part of his name, and felt a stab in his gut, as if Brienne had run him through with OathKeeper.

He pretended to be very interested in his boots as Gerald greeted his wife. Brienne, however, wouldn't have it.

"Ser Jaime, would you come closer please? I wish to have a talk with you."

Princess of Tarth once more, no longer Kingslayer's whore, he thought bitterly, and approached them, standing nearer to Gerald than Brienne.

Gerald clapped him on the back again, his old routine, and nearly knocked him down. "Thank you for taking care of my family, Ser Jaime."

Jaime had his mouth open to produce whatever polite speak was required to get him out of this hellish situation.

Brienne spoke before him, though, no longer Princess but all warrior speak.

"Forgive me, Ser Gerald of Pedalth. I have wronged you."

"Wronged me? Brienne-"

She silenced him with a hand.

Jaime stood shellshocked, wishing with all his might that he had two good hands and a good sword, if Brienne was about to out them once and for all. Did she mean to have him killed? That'd be an easy way to get rid of an aging Kingslayer.

"I've been...untrue. In my body and my heart. I know the laws well of this kingdom and of yours on the Tiering Isles, Ser, and I remind you that if a battle ensues, the winner is the owner of the wife."

"Must there be a battle, Brienne? Who would-"

Running to fat, round faced Gerald turned to look at Jaime, who was still standing next to him, staring at Brienne who had clearly lost her mind.

Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer and recent lover of Brienne of Tarth, Lady of the Tiering Isles, can't do anything but stand there, unarmed, as Gerald of Pedalth, running to fat though he might be, stood a foot taller than Jaime and had two perfectly good hands, swings a right cross at him and knocks him on his ass.

"Stop!" Jaime heard the sound of steel against leather and he didn't realize that Brienne had been armed with OathKeeper all along.

Gerald and Jaime both looked at the woman they'd vowed to love, and she stood in warrior stance, even in her dress and stupid lady shoes, OathKeeper drawn and ready.

Jaime's still holding his nose, which is most likely broken, with blood dripping down his face, when he stands. "Do you mean to kill me, wench?" He says, angry, ignoring Gerald beside him who is none the worse for wear and better armed.

"Your sins are no more than mine, Kingslayer," she hissed, and her blue eyes shined all warrior at him. "All my life, I've been called a man, a beast. I have always wanted what you have, the ability to roam, to gain knighthood, lands. I am as much a man as either of you, and as such I demand the right to fight for myself."

"You intend to battle us both?" Gerald said, his round face red with anger, his small eyes glittering.

Brienne narrowed her eyes. "Draw your sword, Ser."

Gerald looked around to Jaime, as if incredulous. "You let another man, a _Kingslayer_ into your bed while vowed to me, and now you want to fight me for your life? I could kill you both and the Tiering Isles would throw me a celebration!" His voice was low, booming, and Jaime watched him closely, knowing that he'd likely lose to the big man in a fair fight but then again, he'd never thought much about morals. If he intended to hurt Brienne, Jaime would protect her, just as he did in the bear pit, one hand or no.

"I intend to pay my debt to you."

"Pay your debt? The Kingslayer's whore pay her debts like the Lannisters?" Gerald, to have been such an affable man before, had cruel words for Brienne.

She still held OathKeeper ready, watching them both. "Arm yourself, Ser Jaime."

Jaime raised his gold hand meekly. "I'm not going to fight you, wench. You've beaten me when I had two hands and the gods know you'll beat me now, rusty though you may be."

"And I won't fight a woman, Kingslayer's whore or not," Gerald said, his words angry but his tone lower, defeated.

Brienne held OathKeeper higher. "I am not a woman. I am a warrior," she said, and Jaime smiled, bloody nose and all.

In the end, Gerald hadn't been able to summon the strength to fight Brienne, and declared her master of her own fate. Brienne had meekly dropped to his feet, begged his forgiveness, and Jaime wanted to take his good hand and hoist her up, standing tall as a warrior should be.

In the end, Brienne got exactly what she wanted. She was master of her own fate. She was given the ability to choose. What she would choose, Jaime fairly had no idea. She'd spent time with him in a sort of bubble, spending days making love and talking and reading, but there was no substance in it. There was no talk of the future.

Gerald's broad shoulders slumped beneath his armor. "What do you wish, Brienne of Tarth?"

"I wish to be divorced and free. I wish to be my own man, just as any other. I wish to remain in Tarth, to inherit and protect my lands. I wish for Ser Jaime Lannister to remain with me, not as my husband, but as my..." she stopped, looking for the words.

"Consort?" Jaime asked, unable to keep the grin off his face. It was all so ridiculous. It was all so wonderful. That is, if Gerald didn't decide to kill them both.

Her warrior blue eyes gave him a sharp look, and he made his face somber again.

"I wish to pay my debt to you, Ser Gerald, and offer myself as a knight. I wish to be in your service, to right the wrong I've done you."

Jaime was half listening, watching Gerald for signs of distress. He was under threat, of course, they both were, and although his heart was singing that she'd chosen him, if not as her husband as a consort, it was a small victory.

Jaime spent the rest of the conversation in a haze, thinking about what this might mean for his future. Brienne sailing off with her ex husband to fight battles with his men? Living among them? Brienne was nothing but her own woman, nothing but loyal, but Jaime felt uneasy, nonetheless, because after all, he didn't deserve this warrior princess, this Brienne ? the Beauty.

When it was over, Gerald had agreed to terms, and would be visiting in the spring to see his son. He sailed back the way he came, and Jaime wondered if he would ever really return, ever really call Brienne for duty, or if this was a way to be rid of the Kingslayer's whore.

Brienne came to him when Gerald was gone, and he was sitting in her room, on the bed where he'd explored her scarred body with his good hand, kissed her smiling mouth.

"What if I don't want to be a consort?" he said as she walked in.

She smiled, taking off OathKeeper and unbuttoning her dress. "You've always been a consort."

Jaime scoffed. "What if I don't want to be Brienne the Beauty's consort?"

The name they'd called her in jest made her warrior blue eyes flash. "If this has all been a dalliance, you may go. I'll rule my lands without you. You are your own man, Ser Jaime," she said, coldly.

"As are you, now, Brienne of Tarth." He stood up and went to her. He put a hand on her face. Her face, he'd once thought ugly, was not beautiful like Cersei's. It wasn't a face to turn men's heads. It wasn't her face that had stolen his heart, but the warrior glint in her sapphire blue eyes, and he didn't have to bend his head to kiss her eyelids when she closed them.

"I'm Jaime Lannister, Kinglslayer, OathBreaker, and consort to Brienne of Tarth. I'm yours, Brienne, however you want me."

"You'll be breaking more oaths."

"I've already broken them," he stated honestly, "and to a Kingslayer, what are a few more?" ]

He stroked her face with the back of his good hand, using the other to bring her into his arms, their faces close as she was the same height as him.

"I've broken oaths for you, Jaime Lannister. I've abandoned my husband and been a dishonorable woman, something I swore to myself I'd never do." Her eyes searched his, and he pulled her just a bit closer.

"You're not a woman," he said, and just before his mouth touched hers, he whispered, "you're a warrior."


End file.
